


Encounter

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Belgariad/Malloreon Series - David & Leigh Eddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-23
Updated: 2005-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-25 07:56:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1640087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story by MiriYami</p><p>Din's summoning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> Written for diagon

 

 

He sat in among the trees at the edge of the large clearing surrounding the large town nearby. He'd just been laughed -- and stoned -- out of town, just as had happened in countless other cities, towns, and villages across all the kingdoms, and now he was just sitting. He was eating some mushrooms he'd found, half-wishing they were poisonous, and watching the animals and birds go about their business. Later, maybe, he'd use his sling to kill one of them so he could eat something more substantial, but for now he sat, very still, and delighted in their beauty and grace as they went about their lives. He watched the birds, especially, with a sense of wistfulness -- they could fly, leave behind this world, this earth and the unhappiness that was present here. They could avoid the touch -- the stench, the stain -- of the baser instincts of man. They never got laughed out of anywhere; they were beautiful, and graceful.

As he sat there, not far from, but not that close to, the road out of town, he heard a creaking coming along the road. As it approached, he started to hear a soft voice, muttering to -- something. He couldn't make out the words, but it was clear that there was only one voice; maybe the person was talking to his horse? He sat there a while longer -- the person with no name, but who had been called "Din" for as long as he could remember because of the hump on his back, the knotted, short legs, the horribly twisted arms -- listening to this passerby mutter; he should flee, hide in the woods, so that he wouldn't be laughed at or stoned again, but there was something about this voice, this person, that inspired hope in him, that touched him, that told him that maybe life wasn't that horribly bad. He sat there, perfectly still, undecided, until the cart pulled around a curve in the road and Din could see it, see him, the owner of that gentle, loving voice. He figured he'd have plenty of time to hide, to slip into the forest if the driver looked potentially dangerous, but instead, he just sat there, transfixed.

The driver was an old man, and he drove a rickety cart, almost falling apart at the joins, drawn by a stumpy horse. But the expression on his face was the most beautiful thing Din had ever seen -- and Din was an expert on beauty. The old man was looking about him at the world, and he had a beatific smile on his face, an expression that somehow conveyed his intense joy at simply being able to look at the world and see its beauty. And he was murmuring to -- his horse? himself? the birds? -- Din didn't know to whom, but he was murmuring words of praise about the beauty all around him, and the wonder of being able to spend time just looking at it.

Din wished that this might bode for a soul that could actually look at him and see the person instead of the knotted, gnarled limbs and body, but he was a realist; he knew better. He'd had a few such hopes in the past, but by now, the ripe old age of 23, he knew he'd never find anyone who would appreciate him for the person he was instead of ridiculing him for the body he had. He loved the world, but he had learned the hard way not to expect any love in return, except perhaps from the birds and squirrels.

And yet, even though he knew he should run, should hide, he was lulled, made peaceful by that murmuring, that gentle sound rising and falling, almost caressing the world around the old man.

And then the driver turned his head a bit -- and Din saw his head turning, and tensed; he knew that he'd lost his chance to escape yet another humiliation, made worse by the fact that this was another person who absolutely loved the world around him, all of it, unreservedly.

And then, Din saw his eyes -- and the eyes saw him, saw his eyes, and held them -- those glorious blue eyes, strangely young in the old face, and astonishingly, they didn't harden at the sight of him. Din was transfixed.

_The old man caught and held his gaze; he knew he had only one chance at this, that Din was so fragile that the wrong word could make him snap, make him run, forever shunning the company of others, as was destined to be the fate of, among others, the Witch of the Fens. But Din's destiny was still split, still had the chance for happiness, but this was the last chance for his redemption, for his return to humanity._

The old man held his gaze, and drove closer, not altering the pace of the horse, not changing the murmurings he uttered always to the world, letting it know how beautiful it was. And when he came to the point of the road closest to Din, he still held his gaze, but climbed down from his cart and led his horse over the grass, slowly covering the fifty feet or so between road and Din.

Din felt his gaze held, captured almost, and knew he should run, but didn't. He watched the old man drive closer, still holding his gaze; he felt his trepidation build as the old man climbed down from his cart and walked towards him, yet he couldn't move a muscle. There was something in that gaze! And the eyes, obviously able to see him clearly by now, still hadn't hardened. Din felt hope grow inside him for the first time in years, and decided to throw caution to the wind. If this didn't work out, he could always go to the gold ranges of the far north and avoid other people altogether, simply enjoying nature, which was the one entity he had encountered thus far that hadn't rejected him out of hand.

Din forced his voice into some semblance of gruffness, taking the verbal posture that afforded him the most protection. "What do you want?" he grated.

And that voice -- that musical voice! -- started again. "I thought I'd ask you if you knew anything about the town ahead before I drove through."

Din was lost in the voice while it spoke, and when it broke off, it felt almost like the birds had stopped chirping. He started slightly, re-composed his voice, and replied, "They don't like strangers. They stoned me out of town. Other than that, I know nothing of that village -- nor do I want to know anything." He made sure to add that last bit in, just in case this strange old man thought he might be upset that he'd been rejected.

"A pity for them, then, that they've lost the chance to speak to one who loves the world about him so much."

Din started at the insight expressed by the voice, and at the twinge of a laugh that echoed inside and after the words; then he got gruff again. "I don't bother wasting my pity on --" he broke off as his voice started to crack; he wasn't going to cry in front of this stranger, no matter what it cost him otherwise. He schooled his voice and his face. "I guess you could say that."

"How would you like to share noontime meals? And then maybe we could travel on together, looking at the world. If ye be bound to the west, as am I." Again, the music was there -- and the echo of a laugh. It seemed to Din that everything this old man said would be beautiful.

But Din kept his voice gruff as he replied, "We can share the meal, and see how we get on. Then we'll see about travelling together."

_Aldur knew better than to push him; indeed, already his fate was tipping slightly towards the happier version, the version in which he helps save the world and is rewarded by Destiny with a woman every bit his match._

.  
.  
.

 

They had been travelling together for almost a month now, and Din still hadn't found out the old man's name. Of course, he hadn't given his own either -- if it could even be called a name -- so he didn't blame the old man. But already his view of other men had softened; he even caught himself thinking of them as his fellow man on occasion. And where he used to get hard and angry about the way others saw the world, now he more and more frequently laughed -- though harshly -- at their limited worldview.

Then one day, he decided to prevent the conversation he was still dreading by ending their association himself. "Well, old man, I think I want to turn north here for a while, see what's up that way." He waved vaguely with his hand.

He had been trying to avoid looking at that face, not wanting to see the relief he expected, but his eyes were drawn to the old man's face -- and he saw disappointment there, not relief.

"I live a ways west of here, if you ever wish to talk with me again. I've enjoyed our conversations very much," the old man said.

Din was going to reject any overtures, but the disappointment in the face was so honest, so genuine, that he found himself responding in spite of himself. "I might do that," he replied in his gruff voice -- no commitment, but no outright rejection either.

The old man smiled at him, with a smile that unaccountably caused Din's heart to dance, climbed up into his rickety cart, and drove on towards the west. Din watched him, watched his head turn to notice this or that creature or plant near the road; then there was a noise nearby that distracted him, and when he turned back to the road, the old man in his rickety cart was gone.

.  
.  
.

 

A day later, Din could no longer stand it. He actually missed the old man! He didn't understand why, but he knew he had to follow him, to find his home so he could talk with him more. He walked back to the south, back to the spot where he'd bade the old man farewell, and started following the tracks of his cart. And about fifty feet beyond where he'd last seen the cart in the distance, the tracks just stopped. Disappeared. As if a God had just reached down and picked --

He swore sulfurously at himself. Why hadn't he realized? He wasn't sure *which* God he'd been spending time with, but the more he thought about it, the more sense it made.

Since it was late afternoon, he settled down for the night, using the time it took to set up his small campsite to call himself all the unflattering names he could think of. Then, with his physical needs attended to, he spent time reasoning out Who he had been talking to and where He'd gone. He knew there were seven Gods, and he had a vague notion of each of them, temples being the one place he had even a passing chance at getting a meal -- some of the Gods had already started instilling in Their priests the notion that helping others, even defectives, was a good thing.

It couldn't have been Torak; a God who liked the notion of his followers sacrificing each other wouldn't be likely to wander about singing the praises of nature. Din had never even tried to find food at a temple of Torak -- he had better things to do than avoid sacrifice.

It also wasn't likely to be Nedra; He was too focused on worldly goods to be travelling with just a horse and cart.

And that let Issa out as well; He'd more likely travel with a cart drawn by enormous snakes, and besides, He was too torpid to do much of anything but dote on His one priestess.

Chaldan had too much of a sense of honor and rightness to have let slide all the little slights that had happened to Din during their travels together; instead of encouraging him to laugh them off, He'd have encouraged Din to challenge entire villages to combat.

It could have been Mara; he hadn't spent enough time in the land of the Marags to know much about their god.

Belar was also a possibility; while He was a big fan of women and beer and fighting, He did seem to love the world and its creatures. His temples had been the most reliable source of food and shelter for Din in his travels.

And then there was Aldur. Everyone knew that He was the God who dwelled alone, so Din had no experience of his temples, as there weren't any. What was less known, but Din had discovered through constructive eavesdropping and extrapolation, was that Aldur hadn't taken a people because He loved the world as a whole too much to encumber Himself with the distraction of followers. He loved nothing more than to travel about, enjoying the beauty --

That was the clincher. It was late by now, past midnight, and Din finally let himself sleep, secure in the knowledge that he'd figured out which God he'd been travelling with, and also where he'd need to go to find Him: the Vale of Aldur.

 


End file.
